


The Fallen Belkan

by VlaanderenVrij



Category: Ace Combat
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VlaanderenVrij/pseuds/VlaanderenVrij
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micheal Parker is a survivor of the Belkan War. Ten years after witnessing the seven nuclear detonations that would see peace restored the Osean continent, Micheal, formerly known as Maximilian 'Blitz' Warner is ready to tell how he lived through the war. But is he strong enough to keep the peace at home when things come to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen Belkan

**Author's Note:**

> So a new story to keep myself busy with on cold nights as these. This is an ace combat story, and o boy do I miss playing these games on my PS2! I wish Bandai Namco would make some remakes of those games in HD, but I guess we'll have to be content with Ace Combat 7 on the horizon.
> 
> This story entails the story of a man who has been traumatized in the Belkan War, vowing to never return to the skies again. As the tenth anniversary approaches of the Belkan War events lead him to come into contact with Bret Tompson, an Ocean reporter who is making a special documentary about the war. As he tells his story to Brett he opens up the wounds, and must try and keep himself together so the home front won't know. This will probably tie in with the story of Ace Combat Five.
> 
> Hope you like and let's see if I can make something decent out of this.
> 
> Tell me what you guys think!
> 
> I do not own Ace Combat, full credit goes to the respective owners and creators of those amazing games! Don't forget to review if possible.

* * *

** **

**THE FALLEN BELKAN**

**Chapter I**

**THE DESECRATION OF THE ROUND TABLE**

**_“Fear is the brother of hate.”_ **

**_Larry Niven_ **

* * *

 

_Somewhere over Belka, near Priority One Strategic Airspace B7R, 28th of May 1995_

 

"Hey Blitz!"

Maximilan, in short Max, looked around him in confusion, blinking a couple of times to make the sleepy feeling in his eyes go away. He'd lost his concentration again for a bit. This was something that usually happened when they flew in a tight V formation like they were right now, soaring trough the Belkan skies.

"Sir? Anything wrong?" Max questioned as he glanced to his right, past the line of interceptor craft at the flight lead, Captain Dominic Zubov.

"I know you Blitz, stay with us. Just because you are the highest scoring ace in this squadron, with fourteen kills no less, doesn't meant we'll be soft on you." the captain replied with a berating tone. "I'm aware of your... *ahem*... _moral objections_ to our missions. This will not hamper your ability to perform, will it?"

"No sir. I'd never defy a direct order. You know this."

"Did all of you hear that boys? This is why I like you Belkan fellas so much. Yuktobanians like myself always have to double check everything before finally pulling the trigger, but you guys... you're different... you shoot first and ask questions later. Brrrr.... such ice cold obedience... it warms my cold heart." he laughed a bit sadistically.

Max couldn't help but squeeze his flight stick, the leather of his gloves at snapping point. How dare that Yuke pretend he was king of the castle.

"With all due respect, sir... If every officer in the Belkan Air Force was as loyal as me, and my other fellow countrymen in this outfit can confirm this, then you would be out of  job right now." Max sassed on the open com, so that all the other pilots could hear it.

"Ouch! Blitz: one, Vulture: zero." Sergei Karkov came onto the radio, the second in command of the squadron, also a Yuktobanian.

"I'll admit Blitz, that's a valiant point you make. You Belkans pride yourself in having the eldest and best Air Force in the world, yet the desertion rate seems much higher than even your commanders had anticipated. Looks like eighty years of tradition does little to keep the cowards in line." Zubov mocked, knowing very well every Belkan pilot in the squadron would take that personally.

The comms filled with groans and protests all-around, everyone took that insult personal and had their say about it, scrambling out the airwaves so nothing made sense anymore. Max played along and throw in his own two cents, making the conversation even more clouded. It got heated to a point where intervention was neccesary.

"ENOUGH!" Zubov bellowed. "We're here to hunt a filthy, spineless coward. Let's all focus our energy on that instead of bickering about your precious Belkan honor. The subject bores me already. From now, until we kill this son of a bitch we're after, everyone will revert back to their official callsigns. Everyone sound off: Schwarze One, out!"

"Schwarze Two, roger."

"Schwarze Three, roger."

"Schwarze Four, roger."

"Schwarze Five, roger."

"Schwarze Six, roger."

"Schwarze Seven, roger."

Max sighed and looked away from his squadron to the barren land below him. "Schwarze Eight, roger."

Max was a member of a Belkan ace squadron known as Schwarze Team. Their primary and official objective was to patrol the internal airspace of the Belkan Federation itself during the war. If and when a bomber squadron penetrated the frontline interceptors it was their task to shoot them down with their long-range XLAA missiles.

The hard truth was however that no enemy bombers ever managed to make it that far inland. No surprise given the might of the Belkan Air Force. As such their _real_ mission was to shoot down any defecting craft, and when neccesary any damaged or wounded aircraft that attempted to flee the battlefield. Only Belkans trying to get back into the skies afterwards were given a free pass.

Their reputation was notorious, feared by enemies and allies alike. One might think that to be a good thing for an ace, but in reality Max hated being in Schwarze.

He hadn't stepped in his father's footsteps to murder his fellow countrymen, even if they were bloody cowards for fleeing from their duty. The life he was living... frankly it was dishonoring everything the Luftwaffe stood for. It was a disgrace for their status in the fighter pilot community. Every minute under Dominic Zubov was a living hell, not  only because the man was a scumbag, but also because he just didn't give a damn about the sanctity of human life. He was a sadistic bastard who used any excuse to kill and murder his way to a promotion that would never come. He was a hired gun, someone who could be used to pin the blame on if this ever came to a public light.

Being in this outfit had been a punishment for Max. His first posting at the Ustian front when the war broke out hadn't gone too well, at least in one way. When piloting a MiG-29, he'd shot down four craft on the day the nation launched an invasion of its neighboring countries. The issue being that his commander had defected for some reason during the battle, not willing to be a part of the invasion, causing a scandal for the war propaganda. Because Max had been the youngest in the outfit he had been chosen for the harshest sanctioning, namely a transfer to the escapee-killer outfit where he would be forced to shoot down many defecting craft as a form of cruel punishment. A lesson he would never forget.

So here they were on that lovely day in May 1995, searching for Colonel Wolfgang Buchner, a.k.a. _'Huckebein the Raven'._

They could all see him on their radars in the distance, but still out of reach of their long-range equipment. He was flying in  z-pattern, trying to shake them, or at least trying to. The man was as sharp as his reputation stated, though it was only a matter of time before he was caught in their web. The man was flying a twenty-five year old MiG-21 Fishbed for crying out loud. A good fighter for young pilots to train on, but far too slow to keep eight supersonic MiG-31 Foxhounds at bay, one of the fastest aircraft in the known world.

Frankly it was mystery to Max why the Colonel was even trying to flee. He must have known he'd have Max and his comrades on his tale in no time. It was beyond him why he would not just give up. He was smarter then this. Why was he even deserting? Orders said nothing of his motives, nor was there any indication he'd done anything wrong in the first place. Max knew Huckebein well. The man had been one of his instructors back at the academy after all, teaching him the noble art of flying and dog fighting. This made this particular mission even harder. Maybe deep down he still felt a form of loyalty towards his former teacher and mentor. Shooting him down like a mercenary dog was unworthy of him, even if he was deserting his post.

"Do you still have him on radar, Albert?" Max questioned the man in the second seat behind him.

"Yeah, but he's been making sharp turns as of late. Like he is circling around something." Albert retorted.

"He's avoiding the Round Table." Zubov interrupted.

Brecht, the radar operator of Zubov quickly joined the conversation as well. "The captain's right. There's  a battle going on over B7R. I've been listening in on the radio reports and apparently the Oceans are going all in. They want to take the round table from us for once and all. Quite important stuff if you ask me."

"Jeez... the colonel chose one fucking day to go AWOL on us." Karkov jested with a deep sigh.

Max's attention was brought to some jostling in the back seat. Albrecht was pushing all sorts of buttons, testing his equipment and running several diagnostics. It usually meant he had seen something that intrigued him.

"Uhm... this is Schwarze Eight Radar, is everyone picking this up as I am?" he questioned the radar men in the other craft.

A unanimous hum of agreements followed. Something interesting was up, something they should all take note off.

"What is the matter radar boys? Picked up anything unusual for us?" Zubov questioned.

"Sir... our target... Huckebein. He has just chosen a new course." Albert carefully spoke, hiding his shock.

"Which is...?" Zubov hissed between teeth, probably rolling his eyes.

"He-he's.... coming right at us now, sir, and the battle for the Round Table is right in the middle of that." Albert further explained the urgency of the situation.

A mixture of shock and anxiety filled the comms. Everyone was on edge immediately. This was something they could all miss like toothache. A battle over the Round Table was probably good for one's reputation, even better if you nail a few snails left and right, but in their case it meant mixing with dogfight specific aircraft.

"Oh no... that could prove to be a problem. I have no doubts our planes are capable, but to mingle with so many close combat fighter aircraft? Perhaps we should call it a day and let this one be sir?" Max suggested when the noise died down a bit.

"Are you out of your mind!? We've got a job to do, and I intend to deliver for my pay kid." Zobov immediatly broke down Max's hopes.

"I'm sorry, you're right sir. I should look at it as an honor to fight over the holy ground of the round table." Max lied as he balled his fist.

"Stop being so sentimental about something so irrelevant. It's only a insignificant patch of dirt, just like the dirt back home. And I won't tolerate any debate about it. So boys, my decision is made. We're heading over to B7R, shoot down Huckebein, and then we lend a hand as good as we can from a distance. Maybe someone at command will give us a nice pat on the back for it."

"Yes sir!" all the pilots bellowed in agreement.

"All right! That's the spirit!"

Everyone sped up their planes a bit and adjusted for a new course, heading straight for the round table. As they came closer they all tuned in on the battle frequencies, but not much could be made from them as the pilots all seemed in distress, friend and foe alike. The battle must have been going on brutal.

_"The colonel is still as smart as he used to be. He made us think he was circling around the round table, but in truth he was setting us up. He wants to use the chaos to avoid our radar power and disappear. Clever, but let's see how that turns out for him. The enemy IFF won't recognize him as friendly, and I'm sure there are enemy pilots that can outmaneuver his MiG-21, no matter how good he thinks he is."_

When they finally entered the round table the clustered radio chatter became a bit more clearer and immediately it became obvious to the entire squadron that there were heavy losses on both sides.

"I hope that's not because off who I think it is." Albert confided with a whisper, distancing him from the group radio.

"Can it Albert. Don't let anyone hear you talk about _that_ bastard. He's a filthy mercenary dog who'll get what's coming to him sooner or later." Max jested as he got a first good glimpse of the Arial battle, forcing his eyes to go wide open. "Dear mother of god..."

There were planes everywhere, ducking it out with each other. You couldn't possibly tell who was who. It was the most chaotic thing he'd ever seen, so many contrails filling the skies.

"This is AWACS Glucke. Scharze Squadron, I've just picked you up on radar. State the nature of your business here." a call came out from high up in the skies.

"This is Schwarze Leader, we're out here hunting ourselves some runaway scum. You must have picked him up on radar as well. He just entered the airspace."

"Yes, we've just picked up on a single MiG-21 entering the battle zone. I guess that's why they call you _'the vulture',_ Captain Zubov. Please join the fight at your own discretion. I won't deter you from your objective, but any assistance would be welcome, even if the pilots aren't going to be happy it's coming from you lot."

"I guess I should be offended or something? Nevermind... Schwarze Leader to all units. The escaping craft  is heading this way. It's huckebein. Don't let your guard down." Zubov ordered and everyone acknowledged.

A young and very naive sounding voice came onto the radio. "Another one 's coming!"

 _"He must be alluding to us, because that is no friendly IFF."_ Max thought

"Those planes... are they... the vultures?" the young pilot added, his voice a mixture of fear and awe.

Max peered through his HUD, and suddenly it dawned on him. There was a small detachment of planes flying in formation below the battle, giving themselves a couple of seconds of rest. Both the lead plane and his wingman sported an F-15C, a group of three F-16C flying close by.

"Dear mother of god.... that's them... the Ustian Mercenaries that have been causing so much trouble!" he nearly shouted trough the intercom.

"Is that so? Then there's an annyoing fly in the enemy formation. Quick change of plans boys, we'll deal with the escaped craft later. Let's show this mercenary scum how it's really done." Zubov suddenly changed the intent of the mission again.

It really was frustrating when he did this. Was he actually going to focus  all their effort on an all out attack, on _that_ madmen? The mercenary aces had quite a reputation, not only for being deadly, but also for being quite gallantry in some cases when they had the chance. Of course Max didn't believe those tales. They were mercenaries, those bastards only cared about their pay. In some ways Max believed them to be as inhumane as Zubov was.

"Yes sir!" everyone bellowed again

"So... you know who we are?" one of the enemy pilots voices came through the radio. It sounded a lot more sharper, with sarcasm written all over it compared to that naive voice of earlier. There was something about that voice that intrigued Max. "Guess you've come to pick on the dead again Schwarze."

 _"Wait a second... that voice.... no... no-no impossible!"_ Max mind screamed and he found himself suddenly becoming furious of the thought alone... "Captain Larry Foulke... is that you?" Max asked sternly, internally his emotions already bubbling over, anger talking hold of him. "Don't make me repeat myself you bastard!" he lashed out

"Maybe I am Larry Foulke... what is it to you kid?"

"Don't call me kid, you've lost that privilege the day you abandoned your nuggets!" Max screamed.

"I abandoned nobody, as far as I could tell those guys were all ready enough to handle themselves."

"That didn't gave you the right, traitor!" Max barked. "This is Schwarze Eight, braking formation and engaging the enemy, target: _'Solo Wing'_!"

"Schwarze Eight! Stay in formation! Who the fuck is Solo Wing?!" Zubov shouted, but to no avail, Max broke away from his team and headed straight for Galm team as they dispersed, heading for the battle overhead. "Blitz get back in line goddammit! So much for never defying direct orders, everyone break away and follow him."

Max gave his thrusters a good push, advancing quickly on Galm team. The thoughts about how his plane was not good enough for this kind of situation were gone, far gone. All he cared for was to kill Solo Wing, the man with the witty and sarcastic tone to his voice. Max had a serious beef to settle with him, a beef that had earned him the demeaning job he'd been condemned too. His vision turned to black as the F15C with the red right wing became the only one target that mattered to him.

The other Galm team member broke away to engage the rest of Schwarze team, while Solo Wing mingled with the remaining aircraft of the battle for B7R. The situation should have been clear to Max, that he h needed to return to his comrades, but that was all missed in a blurr of hatred and rage. Suddenly one of the F-16's from earlier came into view and the naive voice filled Max's internal speakers of his flight helmet.

"Don't worry Galm two, I've got your back!"

Max had no mercy for the child that dared to stand between him and ultimate vengeance. He got a missile lock on the Falcon and sent a sidewinder on his way, forcing the kid to break off just as a missile was launched from under Solo Wing's aircraft, heading straight for one of Max' allies.

" Blitz... Fox two, fox two! You will pay for the injustice I've been forced to suffer because of you Solo Wing! Today is the die you die!"

"What? Was daddy disappointed his son turned out to be an ice cold murderer after all?" Solo Wing mocked as his missle shot down a Belkan Su-27, flying straight trough the fireball it created, a ballsy move.

"You take that back!"Max shouted as he followed Solo Wing trough the smoke.

"Never for the likes of you... _Blitz_... yes... now I remember you. You were one of those self-declared _noble_ pilots, oh yes you were going to become one hell of top gun weren't you? You believed that because your daddy was a flying ace who was respected you'd easily achieve the same... becoming a vulture as you are serves your arrogance right."

With the Falcon out of way, the path to Solo Wing was wide open. Max pulled up behind him and switched to manual guns to make the kill all the more sweeter. He got a lock and started firing at Solo Wing who started bobbing and weaving in between the fire to evade. The experienced pilot had to pull every maneuver in the book to keep Max off of him, and equally it took everything Max had in him to stay on Solo Wing's tale. His plane wasn't necessarily designed to pull these sharp maneuvers, but was capable of them, but it was putting a lot of stress on the airframe.

"Damn you! Damn you and your betrayal! We all trusted you!"

"Trust is a fragile thing, kid. You spill name in the name of Belka, but as far as I can tell you're nothing but a bloodhound, feasting on the dead."

"Says the man who receives a paycheck for spilling his own blood, Belkan blood! At least I'm the one following direct orders! You disgust me Solo Wing."

"Finally... we found something we have in common!" Solo Wing mocked again in that typical sarcastic and hypocritical tone of his.

Max' MiG wasn't coping well with the stress. He had no choice but to disengage and switch tactics. He pulled one last hard turn into a different direction compared to his pray and pushed the lever of the thrusters to his left, engaging maximum power. He hit mach two point five in no time, putting some distance between himself and the chaos. When he was far enough away he slowed down again and turned the craft back in the direction he had come from. Albert had been shouting at him for some time, but Max had no interest in hearing it so he's cut him from his radio, but now he needed him to something for him.

"Albert!" Max exclaimed as he put him back on the mic. "Engage the main computer and reset the special weapons perimeters, arm all XLAA missiles and prime them for launch!"

"No! You've gone mad! You're going to get us shot down!"

"Albert! I'll shoot you down myself if we survive this, now engage those fucking missiles! Single out Solo Wing and mark him as the only target."

"All right you maniac! I don't know what's gotten into you all of a sudden, but I'll do it. Give me a sec."

"Good boy."

Albert quickly accessed the computer and followed his orders to the letter. A beep on Max's HUD indicated the R-33 missiles under his plane were ready and primed. All targets on the HUD disappeared until only a  single target remained. He got a firm lock and pushed the button on his flight stick.

"Let's see how you like them apples Solo Wing... Blitz, Fox three, fox three!"

He had Solo Wing firmly in his sights, keeping the lock going so the man would have no chance in the world to evade those missiles, sweet revenge coming real close now. The only thing ringing in his ears was the sound of that lock on. Albert was saying something to him in the distance, but he didn't want to hear that. All that mattered was shooting down Solo Wing.

Suddenly another beeping sound caught his attention, it had been there for a while, this one interrupting itself every half second or so, speeding up, it was not continues like his lock on Solo Wing. Finally the horrifying truth dawned on him, his eyes going wide when he glanced over his shoulder as far as the safety harness would let him. He saw two missiles coming his way fast, coming from the only man who would be good enough to have seen him retreat in all that chaos, in that moment Max regretted everything he'd done that day.

It was Galm One, the demon.

"You dumb asshole! You've killed us!" Albert shouted in fear for his own life as the first missile struck right under the fuselage.

Due to the shock Max pushed his flight stick slightly forward and the second missile missed, going right through the gapping gap of the two rear wings, scrapping along the top part of the plane, creating a screeching sound that was deadly to the ears. It passed close by the canopies, it's afterburner blacking the left of the window completely. The plane started shacking severely and Max had to grab the flight stick with both hands as all control was taken from him. The nose dipped down almost instantaniously and he started plummeting downwards uncontrollably.

"The demon just shot down Schwarze Eight!" one of his squad members shouted in the distance.

"Impossible!" Zubov spoke in awe. "How can one man be this good! What have I done? I've ruined us all!"

Max pulled the stick all the way back, extending every flap available to him, trying to level the plane out again as it crashed towards the barren wasteland of B7R.

"We've lost an engine! We have to eject! Deploy the canopy!" Albert begged in the backseat.

"No! I won't be shot down!"

"We have no choice boss! You need both engines to stay airborne, you've already been shot down, let it go!"

"Fuck you demon!" Max pulled his stick one final time, hoping for a response from the rather large jet.

Nothing came, the damage was too severe. Every system was gone, no response coming from anything the two men tried.

"Maximilian please! I'm bailing out, sorry!" Albert screamed as he blew his canopy and used the ejector seat, causing the aircraft to shake even more violently.

"Mayday, mayday.... this is Schwarze Eight mayday... I-I'm sorry everyone, I'm so sorry... I'm bailing out as well. May the Round Table protect me."

Max found the lever for he canopy and pulled it really hard a couple of times, just to be sure. A series of blasts blew his canopy open as well. He flicked back both levers on either side of the seat and immediately it blasted upwards with such force it shook him to his core. It was so damn fast he had not time to register that he was even leaving his plane. He could feel his heart pound in his mouth as he kept on ascending into the skies, the now controllers craft continuing to spiral to it's demise.

His ejection was complete and as he started descending he was separated from his seat, his chute opening immediately.

There he hung all lonely and dismayed like hell. Had this just happend? Had he really been shot down... and so easy no less? Him, an ace of the Belkan Air Force, shot down like a nugget on his first day.

"FUUUUUUCKKKK!" he cursed as loud as the air in his lungs would let him, staring upwards at the ensuing chaos.

He kept his eyes firmly pointed at the many entrails that filled the air, hoping to get a glimpse of the monster that had done this to him... no... no this man was not a monster.

"You're a demon Galm one! From now on you'll truly be called the demon of the Round Table! I will pay back in full for this disgrace! You mark my words Demon Lord, one day you'll taste my wrath!"

**Author's Note:**

> Remember guys, reviews are always welcome.


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